


Letter from the Battlefield

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Epistolary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry writes his new wife a letter from the battlefield at Meaux</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter from the Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “epistolary” square on my trope_bingo card. This, of course, is set in historical times, and is intended to be the last thing that Henry ever wrote to Catherine. Henry died a few months after the siege and subsequent capture of Meaux, while at the Chateau De Vincennes, near Paris, apparently of dysentery.   
> This is the first time I’ve ever written an epistolary fic in almost 30 years of writing stories; I hope that I have done the style (and Shakespeare) justice.

My dearest Catherine, 

I am writing you this missive while still ensconced upon the battlefield at Meaux; I am hoping that I return to your side sometime soon, hopefully before this letter even reaches thine fair hand. My army is advancing slowly, but advancing it is. I am hoping to make some headway and win the current battle by month’s end. But I shall not bore thee nor bother thee with such trivialities; instead, I shall woo thee all over again with pretty words, in the hopes of finding thine mood still sweet towards mine person upon my return. 

I remember the first time that I saw thee standing before me; thou were a pretty sight to soothe one’s fears and to still the listless ache that not even I knew verily existed within my breast. Thou were like an angel to mine eyes, beautifully radiant, and doubly so, nay, triply so when thee smiled upon me, bestowing mine body with a glance and a blush. I miss thee, fair maiden, and wish that I could be there with thee, to cause thee to blush again, to have thee stare upon me with thine eyes once more, to grace mine body and mine soul with thine soothing presence and to have thee giggle in my ears. I would ask thee to kiss me again, twice, nay, three times would I ask, if only to receive but one kiss upon mine cheek. It would sustain me and fortify me for the battles ahead.

If only you could see France again; I know that thou doth miss it, yet I fear that thee would not like the field that I find myself in currently. It is no place for a woman, the battlefield, even though I could wax poetic on the vestiges of war, to recount the madness of battle with the light of bloodlust in thine eyes, to hear the music and the parry of war and ringing blades, the peculiar scent of blood and death and sweat and the sounds of horses all around ... and yet, thee could not be interested in such matters, at all, nor shall I presume to trouble thee with it. It is not a conversation for a woman, let alone the very Queen of England.

I digress. The light of battle is in mine breast and has not left me still; I cannot wait to return to thine side, as I have already intimated. The battlefield may excite me, and if I still have much ground to gain here in France, to further our realm as it stands now, yet it would please mine heart greatly to look upon you once again, to feel your heat against the palms of my hands, to hear your voice and thine merry laughter hanging about the castle. 

It is thy memory that spurs me on, thy visage I carry within my breast at all times; it is as though thee spur me on to greater efforts, as though everything I do upon the battlefield is more for thee than for mine country. Some would say I was a romantic fool and mayhaps I now am, yet let them laugh, I say. They cannot know the wonder of thine eyes, thine voice, thine very being the way that I would like to know it if thou would permit it. 

And yet, I have written enough and yet said very little. Mine mission was to state that I would soon be returning to England once more, and that I would expect to be within your blessed presence within the month, if thou would have me and would permit it. If perchance this letter should reach you before I do. then thou should not worry overly much. Perchance I have been detained longer upon the battlefield than one has expected, but don’t thee fret. I shall return soon enough. I shall even bring back grapes from France so that thou may have the taste of thine own country once more, to smell that which must have been familiar to grace thine presnce once more.

Until we merrily shall meet again,

Forever yours,

Henry.


End file.
